


One More Chance

by In_agony_and_ecstasy



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Abandonment, Confessions, First Love, First Time, Forgiveness, Friends to Lovers, JeanConnie week, Long Distance Relationships, M/M, Second Chances, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-06 13:47:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5419355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_agony_and_ecstasy/pseuds/In_agony_and_ecstasy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean and Connie have recently developed feelings for each other. While drunk, they shared a first kiss, and since then have continued a secret relationship they've hidden from their girlfriends, Mikasa and Sasha. Their first time is everything Jean could have ever dreamed for, but falling in love with Connie wasn't. Their choice to no longer be together - or reunite, and be there for each other - will shape the rest of their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Firsts Together

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Jeanconnie week!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connie and Jean have had a secret relationship for about a month. Tonight, Jean's mom is away, and he's invited Connie over.

When the doorbell rang, I leapt up from my seat to answer it. All night, I’d paced throughout my house, completing half of one task before interrupting myself to start another. Then, abruptly remembering the first task after I started the fifth. Clean my room, then shower. Pick out clothes, but not clothes that made me look like I had tried too hard. Pick up the clothes I threw on my bedroom floor. Brush my hair. Brush my teeth. Even floss. Mouthwash. Mouthwash again. Call Mom. Make sure she didn’t suddenly decide to drive home from my Aunt’s. Make sure the baby shower she was going to tomorrow wasn’t cancelled. Redress. Sit on my bed, tapping my feet. Spray cologne. Too much. Redress into the first outfit. Spray cologne again. Two spurts. Sit on my bed, tapping my feet even more.

And now, finally, I swung my front door open.

Connie stood there, shoulders almost hunched and hands shoved in the pockets of his khaki shorts. When our eyes met, he ran one hand through his buzzed hair and gave me a dopey grin.

“Your mom still gone?” he asked.

I tried to steady my heart, slow my breathing before I responded so my voice wouldn’t squeak. “For the whole night.”

“Sweet.” He stepped inside. Kicked off his shoes. Shut the door.

Then my arms wrapped around his waist and we were kissing. My lips molded to his, and I let out a sigh. I still wasn’t used to this, even though we’d kissed for the first time a month ago. The first time it happened we were both drunk. And it happened just like it did in the movies – a sudden silence between us, heavy eye contact, all tension and desire and impulsion – and all at once we kissed and why we kissed we didn’t know.

We both had girlfriends. He had Sasha. I had Mikasa. The four of us had been best friends since daycare together. Somehow, we’d always known it would be the four of us, the two couples. And he loved Sash and I loved Mikasa. Really, we did. 

But even though we both knew the other loved someone else, in our drunken haste we had kissed and nothing would ever be the same. 

As we made our way down my hall – still kissing – and Connie’s hands roamed up my shirt, I knew again like each day before this that I didn’t want it to ever be like it used to be. I didn’t want it to be the same. I wanted this. I wanted everything we had whatever it was and I wanted it always. 

In my room, I’d left my desk lamp on. It illuminated the room in the same way candles would, leaving everything dim and blurry and dreamlike around the edges. Shutting my bedroom door with a kick, Connie and I stumbled toward my bed. I eased him onto it, and he chuckled under his breath.

“What?” I breathed, kissing my way down his neck.

“You made your bed?” His hands spread across my plaid comforter. “I don’t even know how to make a bed.”

I laughed, nervously. Earlier I’d spent a good ten minutes debating whether or not to make the bed. If I made the bed, he’d realize how much I was trying, how much this mattered to me, how much he meant to me. That would just be embarrassing. But if I didn’t make the bed, it would look like I didn’t care. For once, that was worse. So I gave in and made it. I knew he’d comment on it.

“Shut up,” I said.

He did, but only because his mouth had found mine again. 

Together, we undressed. We’d seen each other naked before. Two guys who’d been best friends since they were kids, who’d taken gym courses together and had both joined lacrosse, baseball and soccer – of course we’d seen each other naked. But it was different now. Instead of just looking at each other we actually saw each other. Connie’s dark skin pressed against my own fair skin. His skinny lanky body underneath my muscled build. Both our eyes, hazel, looking into each other and unable to find the words we needed to express how amazing this already felt. Goosebumps rose on Connie’s arms as my fingers trailed over them. His knuckles caressed my cheek, then my chest, then my naval, and a shiver ran down my spine.

We buried ourselves under the covers. Situating myself between Connie’s legs, I felt all of him to all of me and I couldn’t stop shaking.

“We really gonna do this?” he asked, almost whispering.

I swallowed. Glanced at the lube and condom I’d set out on my nightstand. Then looked him up and down. He was hard and so was I. Had been hard, for some time now. I was a livewire, charged, and my whole body tingled like static. Every nerve aware of him.

“I want to,” I said. “Bad. So bad.”

“Me too.”

So we crossed the line together. I prepped him. Slowly, because I’d only ever done it to myself. But he seemed to like it. Even if he winced. Even if he joked about me poking his stomach and liver. Loser. Way to kill the mood. But I didn’t care, because he smiled. He bit his lip. He sighed. Once, his hands had curled in the sheets. He _did_ like this. And he didn’t want me to worry I was doing something wrong. 

“That actually feels good,” he said. Again, I shivered. God, I wanted him.

“Are you ready?” Please be ready. 

He nodded. 

Connie slid the condom on for me. A wave of insecurity rushed through me. So much could go wrong. I couldn’t let on that I feared I’d be bad, or too small, or that I’d come too early or that I’d hurt him. I wanted him to think I knew exactly how to do this. Even though he knew I’d never done it. Not with anyone. 

But neither had he. And when he placed his hands on either side of my face, and wrapped his legs around my waist, I knew I didn’t have to put on a show for him. He didn’t care about any of that stuff. All he wanted was this. To be with me. Have sex with me. 

Without any more doubt, I eased into him. 

And it felt so good I could cry. It felt so good I couldn’t believe I’d gone my whole life without it. It felt so good I knew that no matter what else I was doing after, no matter how long it had been since, I’d always want this. 

Even though every instinct I had begged me to pound into him hard and fast, I didn’t. I thrust as slowly as possible. Kept a steady pace. In out. In…out. In out…in out. I wanted this to last. To savor it. To memorize every moment. Every aching throbbing sensation. 

Too soon, we were close. Gripping on to each other, pulling each other closer. Breathing each other in. Kissing and kissing and kissing because we’d forgotten about everything else in the world but each other. Forgotten anything else existed but _this_. 

He came first. And the sight shocked me, rippled through me, and I gave in, the pleasure bursting inside of me.

We lay together. Heavy breaths. Shaking hands. Tired limbs. Spent bodies. Tender kisses.

I rolled off him. Tossed the condom in my waste-paper basket. Connie curled close to me, seeking my warmth and the comfort of my touch. I’d never touched anyone like I’d touched him. Not even Mikasa. 

“You know it’s you, right?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s you. Not her.”

He paused. Wore a guilty expression. Closed his eyes and nestled into my chest. “I didn’t know.”

“Well now you do.” We were silent for a long time. But finally, I couldn’t help but ask. “Is it me for you? Or her?”

“It’s you,” he said. His fingers curled in my undercut. “It’s always been you.”

I exhaled at that, relief rushing through me. It hadn’t always been him for me. But now it would be. If I lived forever, it would always be him.


	2. Long Time No See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been three years since Jean left abruptly and never spoke to Connie again. But now he's back, and Jean finally finds the courage to talk to Connie again.

When I saw him sitting outside, like he didn’t even want to be at the party, I thought it must not actually be him. This person had the same buzzed head and dark skin. The same small frame. Same sluggish posture and baggy clothes. But surely, the man sitting on the porch swing underneath the glow of the Christmas lights Eren’s family hadn’t taken down yet couldn’t be Connie. 

But from where I leaned against my car across the street, coffee in my hands to keep them warm in the winter chill, I now knew it had to be. The last three winter breaks I’d come back home for Christmas, and each one I hoped somehow we’d bump into one another again. Then we didn’t, and I’d return to New York for school in January. 

On the plane home, I’d be overcome with relief. Despite the disappointment I felt that I couldn’t see him, I had no idea what I would have done if I had. How could I explain abandoning him so soon after graduation? So soon after we’d begun dating, after our first time? 

As I took a sip of my coffee, I contemplated again how I might explain myself. He’d had a girlfriend too, after all. Sasha didn’t deserve to be hurt any more than Mikasa had. And he’d always told me that I should follow my dreams. Maybe he hadn’t realized that I’d end up in New York if I did, but he could hardly blame that on me. Practicing creative journalism anywhere else felt pointless, except maybe in LA or something. That was just as far away from Minnesota as New York though.

But I’d rehearsed these excuses before and they still felt hallow. Connie deserved more than that. More than me. More than a guy that would skip out on him the moment Connie came out to his parents about liking guys. Leaving without hardly saying goodbye or giving Connie a heads-up that he’d be leaving. 

Drinking the last of my coffee, I crushed the Styrofoam cup in my hand. Turning toward my car, I tossed the cup in the backseat. Just as I was about to ease into the driver’s seat, leave the boring party behind, I stopped. Not because I was drunk – because I wasn’t, although I’d had two beers. Not because I’d forgotten anything in the house. Or because I knew I should thank Eren for telling me how Mikasa was doing – Good, better without me, and I was happy for her. 

But because if I didn’t find the courage to talk to Connie now, I never would.

And I realized I couldn’t look forward to the rest of my life if I couldn’t also look forward to talking to him again.

I crossed the street. Since his eyes were on his phone, he didn’t notice me. As I neared, he glanced up, but again didn’t really see me. Acknowledged my presence but didn’t realize who I was. Not until I sat down beside him did he look up. He glanced at the lawn, as if contemplating whether or not he’d forgotten about an important meeting or a phone call he’d made earlier, before turning his head toward me.

 _Then_ he saw. 

“Jean,” he breathed. Scooted a bit away from me on the swing out of surprise. As if to get a better look at me. “Oh my God. You’re – I mean. You’re _Jean_.”

I forced a smile. My chest felt so tight. I could hardly look at him. He shone so bright this close. His voice had deepened and his amber eyes glowed underneath the porch light and his nose blushed pink from the cold and God, I wanted to kiss him. Three years had passed and it didn’t matter in the least because still after everything I wanted to kiss him.

“Connie,” I finally said. “It’s you.”

He hugged me. I had never imagined that he’d do something like that. Hundreds of scenarios had played through my mind, some of them keeping me up at night. I would have done this years ago if I had known.

We held each other a moment too long. Too closely. Too gently and longingly.

When we parted, we gazed at each other once more.

Before Connie’s face fell. “I missed you, man.”

“I – I missed you too.” He had no idea how much.

“And you just…left.”

I had nothing I could say to justify it. “I know.” I stared at my lap. 

“Hey,” he said, and his hand wrapped around my wrist. Tugged me off the swing. Yanked me off the porch down the pathway. “Let’s get out of here.”

It didn’t matter where we were going, I’d follow. 

We walked together for blocks in the chill. Talked about what had happened in three years. Jobs we’d had. Relationships we’d had. Places we lived. Friends we’d made. And so on. All before we ended up talking about memories. The time he and Sasha both bet they could swallow a tablespoon of cinnamon. Neither of them could and both of them reacted as if they were dying. The time we were all wrestling. Sasha beat Connie, I beat Sasha, Mikasa beat me. The time Sasha threw me a surprise party and I ended up so drunk I slept in the bathtub. 

By the time we got to the diner, the memories had shifted elsewhere. The time I caught him off guard with a kiss while he was sitting on the crooked swing in his backyard. The time we snuck into the showers together at school – in our trunks of course – but still. During gym class. No one noticed. The time he slept over at my house and ended up in my arms because we’d watched a scary movie. Only now, I admitted I had been terrified too. 

“God, I missed you,” he said. 

“Connie,” I said. We stopped in the middle of the road. Snow had begun to fall. Individual snowflakes drifting toward the pavement and melting the moment they landed. I faced Connie. Reached for his hand. He took it, as if on instinct. “I missed you so much I came back.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “This is the first time you came back?”

I sighed. “No. But every time I came back I thought…I might see you. I was too much of a chicken-shit to actually look you up. But…I always hoped.”

He stared off in the distance, like he didn’t know how to process this. I couldn’t blame him. A good guy would have looked him up. Made sure he found Connie. Actually, a guy good enough for Connie wouldn’t have left. If he didn’t give a shit about a thing I said now, I would understand.

“So why now?”

“Because I actually saw you. And I couldn’t stand to wait anymore.”

He nodded. Squeezed my hand. 

“Listen…if you want me to go –”

“I don’t.” He met my eyes again. “I don’t.”

“Then…maybe…is there a chance we could…I don’t know. Catch up?”

“We just did.” He didn’t say this maliciously or to make a point. He meant it seriously, because he hadn’t caught on to what I meant. I smiled.

“I meant…you know, like –”

“Oh! Like a date?” he asked.

I grinned now. “If you think you can forgive me. For bailing on you three years ago.”

Connie pulled me into a hug again. I held him even tighter, for even longer, and even though it snowed I felt so warm. Like I could stand here for the rest of my life and never feel like I was missing something.

“Right now,” he said. “Let’s go.” No time to waste. 

And we walked into the diner together, holding hands. He didn’t know it, but I’d never let him go again.


	3. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter Connie finds closure, and Jean feels relieved.

Connie rolled over in his sleep. Normally nothing would wake him. Not a train passing through the kitchen, not an anvil dropping through the roof, not a volcano eruption from beneath the bed. But tonight he’d been drunk, so he might as well be dead and I knew I wouldn’t sleep a bit. All night I’d push him onto one side or another, assuring he wouldn’t fall asleep on his back.

Of course that wasn’t the only reason. 

He almost never drank. Since we were kids he didn’t really care for it. But I’d taken him out tonight for our one year anniversary. Gave him an anniversary present – Swarovski crystal earrings, because other than a watch I didn’t know what I could get him. Told him I loved him. That I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him – I wasn’t ready to propose. But one day, I would. After all we’d been through, I wouldn’t take the risk of losing him again.

We’d mostly talked about that tonight. Once he started drinking his second glass of wine, I knew it would come out. While sober, he promised he was over it. Told me it was in the past. He’d practically forgotten about it. 

But then we’d fight and he’d bring it up just to throw a low-blow.

And apparently, he felt the need to talk about it while he was drunk too.

Because under his breath he had murmured, “I waited for you to come back. But not…not that long like…not that long. And then, and then. I tried to get over you but like. I didn’t. I didn’t get over you. I never got over you, Jean.”

By the time I got him in the car, he’d asked, “Why’d you leave? What’d I do? I know I do – do stupid stuff sometimes. A lot of stupid stuff. I know. But I – and this isn’t because I’m drunk. Because I’m not – not. It’s because – because of…never mind. I don’t – don’t know what I’m talking about.”

And on it went. My grip on the steering wheel was so tight my knuckles hurt. But I wasn’t mad at him. Not even for drinking. Just mad at myself. For never giving him closure. For waiting so long to come back. And like always, leaving in the first place.

I tucked Connie into bed the moment we got home. By then, he’d been blubbering and hiccupping about something else altogether. He asked me to sleep with him before passing out. Unable, apparently to remember that he’d confessed anything to me at all. He asked me why I was mad at him. I assured him I wasn’t. Just tired. 

I couldn’t get it off my mind. As soon as I gained the courage, I was planning to ask him to marry me and I could never hope that he’d say yes if we didn’t figure this out. Or, maybe he would say yes, but what kind of marriage would that be? Always bitter. Slightly betrayed. Doubtful or distrustful. I couldn’t handle that.

When the sun finally rose, I climbed out of bed. Showered. Watched half a season of _Breaking Bad_. Made breakfast. Then made lunch and stuffed it into the fridge. By the time Connie finally woke up, groaning and cursing under his breath, I’d cleaned half the apartment and made myself four cups of coffee. 

He walked out into the living room. Glanced at the coffee table where I had laid out aspirin and Mountain Dew for his hangover. Smiled and immediately chugged half the liter with three pills. Plopping down on the couch beside me, he said, “I’d kiss you but I bet my breath is deadly.”

I smiled half-heartedly and sipped from my coffee.

“Oh, God,” he said. Sat straight up. Plopped the bottle back on the table. “I said something embarrassing last night, didn’t I? God. I’m sorry I got drunk. This is why I –”

Resting my hand on his knee, I faced him. “That’s not it, Con.”

As soon as he heard me shorten his name, he knew this conversation had gotten serious. He leaned forward. Reached for the remote and clicked the TV off. Took my coffee away from me and set it down on the table beside his Mountain Dew. 

“What is it then? Why didn’t you tell me? What is it?” 

I could hear the panic in his voice already, so I blurted it out. Everything he said to me the night before. As much as I could remember. I said the words that hurt the most word for word. Connie nodded as I spoke. And with each passing second I tried to make it easier for him to hear, but I could see how guilty he felt. How much he regretted drinking. How scared he was, because he had tried to keep this from surfacing for so long.

He didn’t speak for a long time. So long, I had to, again. “Listen, I’m not mad. You know I’m not. I don’t get to be. I know you can’t just get over it.”

He nodded again. “But I want to. I want to just put it behind me.”

I hesitated. But wrapped my arm around his shoulders. He laced his fingers together. Placed his elbows on his knees. Leaned into me. 

“I know,” I said, “Me too. But I think we’ve figured out that ignoring it doesn’t mean we’re over it.”

He turned to kiss me. Pressed his forehead against mine. “I’m not good at talking.”

I huffed out a humorless laugh. “Look who you’re talking to.”

He smiled. Scooted into my lap. I wrapped my arms around him.

“I’m just going to ask all my questions,” he said.

“Okay,” I said.

“And you’re going to answer them.”

“Okay.”

“And whatever you say, I’m going to trust. So you gotta be honest.”

“I always try to be.” Which was true. Even before I left, I had always been honest with him. About how I felt, what I wanted, what I thought, what made me upset or angry. Being honest with _him_ had never been the problem. It was about being honest with myself I could never seem to do.

“Why’d you leave?” His fingers curled in my T-shirt.

“Because I was scared. I loved Mikasa. Not as much as you, but I loved her. And I was scared of breaking up with her for you. A guy.” My mom wasn’t homophobic. And I never thought she’d hate me or kick me out for liking Connie. But I knew she’d prefer me to be with a woman. If only so I could have biological children and live an easier life and live the way she’d always envisioned I would. 

“So it wasn’t something I did?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. But you came out to your parents.”

He thought about this, before nodding like he thought that made sense. Or at least, finally cleared something up for him.

“Why didn’t you try to see me sooner?”

“I thought you’d never want to see me again. But when I saw you on the porch, I couldn’t help it.”

He smiled at this. Placed one hand on either side of my face. 

“Is there any chance you’ll ever do it again?” 

I shook my head while looking him in the eyes. “Never.”

“Promise?”

“On my life.”

He kissed me then, and we tangled our limbs together. Eased onto the couch, kissing and holding each other close while the sun rose higher in the sky, clouds parting and blue sky stretching on forever over the silhouettes of the skyscrapers of New York City. The walls sheened orange and Connie’s eyes glowed gold. 

Our lips parted. My eyelids drooped. The night had caught up with me.

But Connie threaded his fingers through my hair. “One more question.”

“Hmmm?”

“Did you get over me? Cause…you know, I didn’t.” 

I smiled, but my chest felt heavy with a sadness I felt whenever I thought about our time apart. “I could never get over you, Connie.”


	4. Practical Jokes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter Jean is pissed, but Connie makes it better because he didn't forget afterall.

I drove home from the restaurant later than planned, alone, and hungry enough I might go to Taco Bell. But my stomach was so upset. And even though I didn’t want to be, even though logic kept telling me it was a simple mistake, I shook with my anger. Christmas, New Years, My Birthday, Valentine’s Day, even anniversaries – none of them mattered to me as much as they mattered to Connie. If he had forgotten any one of those I wouldn’t have cared so much. Dates were easy to forget and buying gifts for me – or anyone for that matter – was a pain in the ass. 

But this had mattered to me. All it had been was dinner. Fucking dinner. 

I’d lived in New York for six years and although I’d gotten a few short stories published here or there, I’d never been this recognized. Now I would have an office. My own column. For the _New York_ Fucking _Times_. My name would be in every newspaper. Every single column I wrote would be read by thousands, maybe even more people every single week.

And Connie missed the one dinner to celebrate it. The one that had mattered more than any other dinner I’d ever taken him on. 

What really bothered me about it was we spoke on the phone about it _this morning_. 

On his way to school, before I’d even climbed out of bed, he’d called. 

“What?” I answered the phone. He knew better than to call me when I wouldn’t be awake yet.

“Hey, are you going anywhere today?” he asked.

I rolled my eyes, because, of course I was. “Yeah. My classes…Then work…then the restaurant.” We’d gone over all this too. The night before, I’d told him how nervous I was to go to work. The job paid well, worked with my school schedule, and kind of needed me. I’d still be working the weekends until my semester finished, but my hours would be reduced way down. On such short notice, I could hardly expect my boss to be too pleased. But now that I’d be able to write full-time, even my school schedule could get in the way. I didn’t have time for the bar anymore.

“Right. And what time again should I meet you there?” he paused between a few of his words to pay the taxi driver. Hopped out of the taxi. Then the background was filled with the sounds of passerby and traffic. I could hardly make out his words.

“Seven,” I said, “That’s when the reservation is. But leave early. Traffic’s going to be awful.”

“Right, right,” he said, “I know.”

“Are you _sure_ you know?” I asked. 

“Yeah. I knew before I called. But I wanted to make sure.”

He sounded sure. But knowing Connie, he was often sure of something he wasn’t sure about. 

“Okay.” I drew the word out in my mouth, so he would understand that he wasn’t being convincing enough for me to have faith in him. “If you say so.”

“Seriously, babe. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

This time he sounded really actually sure. I relaxed some. Felt guilty for doubting him. No one had been as excited for me as he was. My mom congratulated me, but ultimately would never be as enthused about me writing as she would be if I had become a lawyer or a doctor or something. Mikasa told me she was proud of me, and that she wasn’t surprised, but I knew secretly she was. Sasha cheered on the other end, but we barely discussed it. And Eren said “Good job not fucking up.” 

But Connie had been talking about it with me for at least a week, congratulating me, reading some of my work and telling me which pieces were his favorites. Bragging about me to his friends and parents. Asking me what kind of stuff I planned to write once I officially started working. Whether or not I was stressed about coming up with something every week, then immediately reassuring me that I shouldn’t be.

“Okay,” I said to him then, “I love you. See you there.”

“Love you and see you there.” He’d hung up the phone. 

Thinking about it now just made me angrier. Finally, I was far enough outside the city into the suburbs that I could actually drive the speed limit all the way back to our apartment. In the parking lot, I sat there fuming for a moment. Before I went upstairs and went inside, I needed to be calm. If I burst through the door yelling, whatever fight we were about to have would be ten times worse. Talking it out with Connie always worked best. 

When I was certain I’d calmed down, I stepped out of my car, slung my backpack over my shoulder and ran into the building. I felt ridiculous wearing such dressy clothes and carrying my backpack, but this late few people were in the hallways or the stairwell.

Unlocking my apartment door, I stepped inside, about to call for Connie.

But then, louder than my ears were prepared to handle, “SURPRISE!”

I flicked on the light. Took in the sight of all my friends and family crowded into our apartment. Searched for Connie. Found him approaching me from our bedroom, dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt and tie. Grinned. Pulled him into my arms.

In my ears he whispered, “Surprise. Don’t kill me.”

“For missing dinner?” I asked.

“For making you think I forgot. For making you drive all the way out to the restaurant. For pissing you off.” 

Without me even needing to tell him I was angry or why, he knew. He hadn't forgotten a thing. Hell, he’d been more prepared than me.

“Don’t worry about it.” And I really didn’t want him to. He’d clearly been planning this for some time. Way more thought went into this than simply meeting me for dinner. My guests were approaching me. Music was playing. The Ps4 was pulled out. The kitchen smelled amazing, and exactly like my mom’s cooking. Everyone looked like they were dying to talk to me, and clearly waiting for Connie to surrender me.

He tried to, but I held on to him as I joined the party.


	5. At Your Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter Connie has to face one of the scariest moments of his life, and Jean has to support him as best he can.

When I woke up, Connie sat at the end of the bed. Faced away from me, toward the door. Head bent down. It was so early, that the sun hadn’t even illuminated our room yet. I had to flip on the lamp. At first I thought I’d woken up from the cold. We kept the thermostat so low to save money, that even with two blankets we still needed to snuggle close just to fall asleep. He’d gotten up, and it had woken me. But then I realized that a white glare lay on Connie’s cheeks, and glinted in his eyes. He was looking at his cellphone.

I scooted toward the end of the bed. Placed my hand on the small of his back. Kissed his shoulder. “What’re you doing up?”

His eyes met mine and I realized he was crying. 

“Connie?” I asked. Leaned in. Wiped his tears away. Tried to think of anything that would immediately solve the problem, but couldn’t. Because I didn’t know the problem and I was terrified to know. We went to bed perfectly content the night before. And it was so early. Something big had to have happened. 

His voice was a rasp, I almost missed what he said. “My mom’s in the hospital.”

“Oh my god, what happened?” 

“She’s got cancer. Leukemia.”

I didn’t even know what to say. It’s going to be okay? She’s going to be okay? How bad is it? Is it terminal? I had no idea. If I had just learned that my mom had cancer, nothing could make me feel better. Not even Connie. It wouldn’t be his fault, but still. I felt like it was mine if I couldn’t.

“I’m so sorry, Connie.”

“It’s stage three,” he said, “She’s already going to start chemo.”

Hoping this would be the right move, I pulled him into my arms. He sunk into me. I exhaled. Kissed his buzzed head. I had no idea what to say, but I knew he needed me to talk. I’d learned that much since dating him. Every time he ever got upset about something, I put off talking as long as possible because I never knew what to say. But he always needed it. This had to be the worst thing yet.

“Your mom’s not a quitter, Connie. She’s – kind of one of the toughest people I know.”

He huffed out a humorless laugh at this. For years he’d fought with his mom over how she treated him. He was never enough for her. Never did well enough in school. Never had a bright enough future. And then on top of everything he liked _men_ and apparently that was the peak of his failures. Until now, I’d never hidden my distain for her very well. Unless I was in front of her.

But now I knew I couldn’t. Because Connie never stopped trying to impress her. Like me, he loved his mom.

“You’re right,” he said. “She won’t die out of spite.”

I snorted at that, but held in any more laughter. “I know everyone would say she’s going to be okay. That’s what you’re supposed to say but…she actually will be.”

He smiled, though his eyes were distant. Then he looked up at me. “Jean.”

I felt in my gut that whatever he was about to say would upset me. Or at least, he thought it would. He only ever said my name like that to warn me ahead of time. I braced myself. 

“Yeah?”

“I have to go home.”

I shook my head, not in disagreement, but confusion. We’d bought tickets to go home over his winter break. He’d be home nearly a month before his new semester started. On the other hand, I’d only be able to be home for a week. Could only take so much time off of work. But Connie worked for his school in the financial aid department. There wouldn’t be work over break anyway. Actually, he’d probably be able to pick up a few shifts at the pizza place he used to work at before he moved to New York with me. His old boss still adored him. 

“You already are,” I said.

“No,” he said, and held on to my hand. “I need to go home now. For as long as she needs me.”

This still confused me. If my mom was sick, of course I’d go home and take care of her. But my mom didn’t have a husband. She only had me. But Connie had both of his parents and three other brothers, all of whom were older and lived closer.

“I don’t understand. Why?” I asked. “Connie – I mean, you know I can’t go with, right? We’d be apart. For like…a really long time. Maybe months.”

He nodded. “I know you can’t. But – look, it’s not about – like, I know what you’re thinking. But I’m not going home because I _have_ to. At least, not the way _you’d_ have to.”

My first instinct was to yell and defend myself. But his eyes were still bloodshot. He looked miserable. Destroyed. So vulnerable. I couldn’t. I couldn’t do that to him right now. And besides, I knew that even though my mom didn’t have anyone else, I’d go home to see her even if she did. Even if I’d lose my job, which I’d had so long now I could hardly imagine not having it. Because the only other person I loved in the world besides Connie was my mom.

But I still wasn’t ready to let him go. “What about school?”

“Two of my classes are online. No problem there. My English class…I’ll take a hit for the absences but…I’ll be able to email her my last couple major assignments.”

“And your history class?” I asked. I knew that one was his favorite. He’d stretched out all his gen eds over several years, because he had no idea what he wanted to do. But since taking that class he’d told me he thought it would steer him in the right direction.

Now he shrugged, and gave me a weak half-smile. “I don’t mind retaking that one.”

“Okay,” I whispered, rubbing his shoulder. “We can buy your ticket, and pack. You can catch the next flight.”

He smiled at me with a quivering lip, and I pulled him into a kiss. Since it was still so early, Connie and I decided we didn’t have to get up and get going just yet. We could spend some time with each other. Neither of us had any idea how long he’d be gone. I knew it would be up to him. I’d left him for three years with no excuse and no warning. If he wanted to stay there a long time, even if it made me miserable, I’d be right here waiting for him to return. 

Lazy and tender kissing turned into something more passionate, more blurred, almost fast-forwarded into my ankles being hitched on his shoulders and our nails digging into each other. Barely parting my lips from him, I told him to go harder. He needed that right now. Normally he was gentle with me, and I really had to beg him. But today he let go right away, shed his inhibitions and made me wail for him. 

Afterward, we took our time holding each other and kissing. Until the sun finally rose and I knew he’d be anxious to get going. While he made breakfast I bought him a ticket to Minnesota online. The price wasn’t bad since it was so short notice. And then I spent over twenty minutes searching for one of our suitcases for him to use. When I finally found it, we ate the waffles Connie had made. I helped him pack. For the better part of packing, he was on the phone talking to his relatives and making arrangements. But we clung to each other. Touched each other unnecessarily. Kissed each other whenever there was a spare moment.

And then, finally he called a cab. When the driver arrived, I kissed him at the door and told him to call me once he got home.

He smiled. “I’ll probably call you at the airport. I love you.”

“I love you too,” I said back. Then I shut the door.


	6. Insecurity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Connie feels insecure and out of place in school. Jean is just the person to make him feel better about it.

When I got home, Connie had locked himself in the spare room to study again. Before I headed in there, I walked into the kitchen to put away the ice cream I’d bought on the way home. Then carried the pizza – his favorite, pepperoni, mushroom, and sausage – into the bedroom. He sat hunched over his desk. Stared at his textbook. His hand gripped the back of his neck. Brushed over his buzzed scalp a couple of times. Headphones stuck in his ears, so I gently pulled one out so that he’d notice me. He jumped, but gave me a weak smile.

Ever since he’d come home, everything had been different. I’d done what I could to ease him back into living in New York, living with me, being away from his mom – but nothing had quite worked. He still thought he should be home. Even if she was in remission now, she’d ended up needing a surgery and was still in recovery. Not to mention she could relapse at any moment. He hated being so far away, though he was relieved she’d gotten better. 

I was too. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like for Connie if he’d lost her. 

“Hey,” he said, “Pizza? Again?”

“That’s all you like,” I said. Set the pizza on his desk. Slumped into the futon across the room, so that I could watch him work without disturbing him. Hugged a pillow to my chest. 

Connie opened the pizza box, but didn’t take out a slice. He probably wasn’t hungry. Or was too distracted to eat. “You got me there,” he said, anyway. 

He sat for a while in silence, still studying. Whenever he studied, his eyebrows furrowed in this adorable way, and his mouth pouted, although he didn’t know it. It was hard not to stare. Harder not to smile. I loved watching him study. It relaxed me.

But tonight he looked more stressed than adorable. He’d started school again. He’d officially declared a major and minor. Anthropology and History. Perfect for him, really. But now he took school so much more seriously than he ever used to. 

And no matter what I tried to do to relax him – drawing him a bath, cooking for us instead of him, watching his favorite TV shows in marathon-mode, letting him sleep in extra late, topping every night or just blowing him, running out and getting coffee, answering the phone whenever it rang, doing all the household chores, etc. etc. etc. – I couldn’t get him to calm down. His shoulders were so tensed all the time. 

Which meant I’d have to try to talk to him. Even though I was pretty sure I couldn’t help him at all. 

“Is…something on your mind?” I asked him.

He perked his head up. Gave me a questioning look. His features softened. 

And then it all just…spilled out of him.

“I can’t do this. I can’t. It’s like, the more I study the less I fucking know. And I’m the only one ever raising my hand in class. And whenever I ask a question, the rest of the class looks at me like they feel sorry for me. And the teacher is so fucking condescending. Okay – I tried to answer a question once okay, and the question was like, why did ancient peoples draw on cave walls or whatever whatever and I was like um, for entertainment? You know, cause like, what the fuck else could they do for fun? Catch a cold and fucking die? Sleep on a sharp rock? Fall in the river? You know, their lives fucking sucked so they had to do _something_ and my teacher actually like, held back a laugh. And he was like _um_ …anyone _else_ have any ideas? And some fucking know-it-all next to me was like, uh, to record their history, _duh_. And my teacher was all like _there_ you go. And I’m like what the fuck? You think some dumbass Neanderthal way back when was honestly thinking to himself – you know what? Historians hundreds of years in the future are really going to find my drawing of a stick figure killing a bear useful, I better draw it! Like, what the fuck? No? But still he –” 

Unfortunately, I cut him off by laughing, and he glared at me. 

“Sorry, babe. That was funny is all.”

“It’s just…I feel like I don’t belong there.”

Now I stood up and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. “Connie, just because they’re better at telling the teacher what he wants to hear doesn’t mean they’re smarter than you. They’re just high on their own shit.”

Connie smiled at that, but shook his head. “I’ve been in school on and off for…five years. Five years and I’m only _just_ declaring my major. I’ll be in school for at least another two years. And…while I was home…my brothers – they’re all successful you know. And they were giving me shit for not amounting to anything and – and…”

“Connie,” I said. Kissed the top of his head. “Your brothers are assholes. They’ve been assholes since forever. And one day, when you get your degree, and you get a job that pays more than any of them in New York instead of fucking East Jesus Nowhere, Minnesota…I bet you any money they shut up real quick about how unsuccessful you are.”

He seemed to think about my words. Tapped his pencil against his textbook. “What if that doesn’t happen?”

Spinning his chair for him, I faced him. Kissed him. Looked him in the eyes. “It’s going to. And I can’t wait to see their faces when you invite them to your graduation ceremony.” 

At that his eyebrows rose, and I knew he liked the idea too. What could they say to him then? Not shit. Because one of his brothers was a dentist, one was an accountant, and one was the principle at an elementary school, and the degree Connie was getting would place him in a job paying higher than all of them. They’d never look down on him again.

“Hey,” I said. Shut his textbook. “Take a break. Your pizza’s getting cold. There’s ice cream in the freezer. Let’s go watch a movie.”

He smiled. Kissed me again. “Okay.”


	7. Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter Jean asks Connie to make a life-long promise with him on Christmas Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed Jeanconnie week as much as I did!

Early on Christmas morning, I was already awake, long before Connie. Last night, I “accidentally” fell asleep on the couch. And unlike when Connie fell asleep on the couch, he didn’t have the strength to carry me to bed, nor the heart to wake me up and make me walk. So he’d let me sleep out here. This way, when my alarm rang this morning, it hadn’t woken him up.

It was our first Christmas in New York. Every year before this we’d travelled home. But my mom bought tickets to fly out here this year. And Connie’s mom was finally well enough to make the drive. A very long drive, but apparently she wanted to see Niagara Falls and whatever. His parents and brothers wouldn’t get here until New Year’s Eve, but Connie and I were okay with that. Trying to deal with his family and my mom together at the same time would be exhausting and irritable for both of us.

However, we had the morning to ourselves. My mom’s flight wouldn’t land until early afternoon. That meant now was the only time I could do this.

And it had to be today. I could have done it any other day of the year, technically. Valentine’s day – though that’d be corny as hell, our anniversary – though he might guess it would happen that day, his birthday – though he’d have school and work and more plans, or on any plain old day when he’d have no way of predicting it. But none of that was good enough. 

The thing was, he loved Christmas. Not even for the reasons most people did. Sure, he liked getting gifts and getting time off work and school and whatever. He liked going out to see the Christmas tree lit up at Rockefeller Center. He liked shopping, especially in New York. But really, he was in it for waking up on Christmas morning to snow wafting down from the sky onto our balcony and blanketing the New York skyline. He was in it for curling up on our couch and watching Christmas movies while drinking hot chocolate. And he loved the Christmas lights. More than once he’d sat in the windowsill studying over the last few weeks just to look out at all our neighbors’ lit windows and rooftops. 

Even more than that, I thought he just liked feeling at peace on Christmas day. No responsibilities. Nowhere to be. Nothing he had to worry about right now. All he had to do was spend time with people he cared about, and be happy he had them in his life, and be grateful that even if every other day of the year had been hard, by Christmas…everyone was still here. Everyone was okay. And everyone had just gotten gifts from loved ones who’d stressed over finding the perfect gifts for weeks.

He loved that. It had taken me years to understand this. To see it in his eyes over and over throughout the day. I didn’t even know if _he_ realized how much he loved Christmas. Or why he loved it. But he did.

Our Christmas tree stood in front of the only window in our living room. Every night before last, we’d turned it off around ten. Last night, for Christmas Eve’s sake, we left it lit all night. It glowed in every color along the wall and floor. Underneath were two neat piles of presents in different sizes and different wrapping paper. The gifts Connie had gotten for me and his family. His pile was much larger. I only had one gift for my mom, and two very small, very cheap gifts for him.

I wished they weren’t, but the ring I’d bought him was real gold. I’d rather buy him cheap gifts than a cheap band.

I placed the small velvety box underneath the tree, right between the piles. Pushed the piles aside a bit, so the small box stood out. Then, lit candles around the apartment. The one on the dining room table. The one on the counter in the kitchen. The one on the coffee table. And the one on the TV stand beside our stacks of DVDs. 

On TV, I turned to a channel that played nothing but Christmas music. Turned the volume down a bit, hoping it wouldn’t wake Connie yet. 

The first few songs played without incident while I began making pancakes. Connie cooked better than I did, but any food that touched a pan he left to me. I flipped pancakes in the pan. Sprinkled in chocolate chips – Connie’s favorite. Piled them on two plates. Melted butter. Coated each pancake with it, front and back. Pulled out the syrup. All while humming to Christmas songs and shifting from one foot the other, not quite dancing, but almost.

Only once the pancakes were done, and Jingle Bells blasted from the speakers louder than all the songs before it, and I heard Connie stir from the bedroom, did I realize – Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

I was proposing to Connie Springer, my boyfriend of almost seven years. 

And he might say no.

My heart started pounding hard against my ribcage as Connie walked out of the bedroom. He wiped his eyes groggily. Grinned at me. Walked toward me. Kissed me.

“Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” I breathed, barely finding my voice.

“You made pancakes.” He stared at the food, grinning even wider.

“Yeah, but.”

“But?”

“Let’s open gifts first.” Now that I realized how horribly this could go, like, ruining Christmas for Connie for years, I needed to get it over with.

Connie shrugged like this wasn’t the most important day of all time. “Okay. Food will get cold but whatever.”

I followed him out into the living room toward our Christmas tree. Sat on the couch. Stared at the little box under the tree. At Connie’s feet as he approached it. The hems of his plaid pajama bottoms curling over his toes because they were too long for his short body. He always joked he’d never need slippers. 

The moment Connie saw the box, I knew, because he gasped and whipped his head over his shoulder to look at me. I smiled, weakly. Held my breath. Clutched onto my hoodie to prevent myself from shaking.

“No way,” Connie said.

I didn’t say anything. 

He bent down to pick up the little velvet box. Opened it. Stared at the tiny gold band – nearly the smallest size available for men. Then he pulled it out and slid it onto his left ring finger.

“Jean,” he said, “Jean, tell me what I think is happening is happening.”

When he turned back around, I was on one knee. Barely balancing myself from shaking so badly. Barely able to look into his beautiful, eager, nervous amber eyes. Barely able to reach up and hold the hand he’d slid the ring on to. 

“Connie Springer,” I said.

“Oh God,” he said.

I chuckled, easing my nerves a bit. “Will you?”

He paused, as if waiting for me to continue. “Will I what? Marry you? Right? Marry you?” he asked.

I snorted, shaking my head. My whole body was trembling. “ _God_ , Connie. Yes.”

“Yes,” he said. “God, Jean. _Yes_.”

And he dropped the velvet box, so that he could pull me up onto my feet. No less than five seconds later, he’d pushed me backward onto the couch. Climbed into my lap, straddled me. And began kissing me, making me feel good, until I couldn’t remember what day it was. 

Afterward we lay on our couch, naked, underneath five blankets because the thermostat was so low and our skin was damp. I held him so close. Couldn’t stop kissing him. Tasting his skin. Feeling his body against mine. I wanted to do this all day. Just kiss him and make love to him and hold him and do nothing else in the world ever again.

I also wanted to call my mom. Not to tell her I got engaged. To tell her to go home and I would see her when I saw her. But I knew I couldn’t. By now, she was already on her plane.

“I dare you to go heat up the pancakes,” he said.

I chuckled. Kissed his ear. “I dare _you_ , since _I_ made them.”

He grumbled. Tucked his head under the covers. A few moments later, he popped back out. “Fine. I’m hungrier than I am cold.”

He stood up and I watched him go. Then I got up to turn on the heat. We could tolerate a lot but my mom couldn’t. She’d call me every day until summer asking me if my apartment was too cold and if I was freezing to death. 

When he came back, the two of us sat side by side on the couch, eating pancakes and flipping through the channels on TV until we found a Christmas movie to settle on.

We were quiet for so long. That familiar peace and quiet on Christmas. Eating. Laughing under our breath. Being close. 

“What about the presents? “Connie asked after a while.

“We’ll open them when mom gets here.”

“One of those you aren’t going to want to open in front of her.” 

I choked on my pancake for a second. “Seriously?”

“I mean, just saying.”

I shook my head, and laughed. Kissed him on the forehead. 

“I love you,” I said. 

“I love you too.”

“I’m so glad you said yes.”

“I’m so glad you asked. Thought you never would.”

I smiled at that. Pulled him into my arms. Trailed my finger over his ring a few times. It fit him perfectly. “Merry Christmas, Connie.”

“Merry Christmas, Jean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious, my tumblr URL is the-only-one-in-color@tumblr.com


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